Mismatched Shoes
by DianeB
Summary: Adding narrative to conversations between Martin and Louisa during the S4 episode, "The Departed."  Louisa, especially, leaves so much unsaid - and what she does say is never what she really means.
1. Green Eyed Monster

Title: Mismatched Shoes, Chapter 1 (Green-eyed Monster)  
Author: DianeB  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Martin/Louisa

Summary: Once more, I'm adding narrative to conversations between Martin and Louisa. Louisa, especially, leaves so much _un_said – and what she _does_ say is never what she really means. This fascinates me and compels me to write. This time it's from the S4 episode, "The Departed."

A/N: Many thanks to **Littleguinea** from fanficdotnet for her fair eye to editing and to checking the "Americanisms." Written February, 2011, soon after this episode aired in the United States.

Disclaimer: This story is for entertainment purposes only. I claim no right to anything affiliated with _Doc Martin_. This is my second attempt at _Doc Martin_ fanfic.

* * *

"God help me," Louisa said, as she and Martin left the Wenn's large but messy abode, "I was three seconds away from nearly throttling them." Louisa was confident Martin would agree with her, which is why she'd said it at all.

"Yes, it would've been better if you didn't speak at all. Engaging them on the topic only made it worse."

_Overconfidence, thy name is Louisa_, she thought, gritting her teeth. Why did she even bother? It was as though he was disagreeing by rote, as if nothing she could ever say would lead to anything but a negative response from him. Still, it was impossible for her to resist meeting his biting tone with an equally biting tone of her own. "Maybe _you_ should try defending your aunt, then, instead of leaving it to me."

Martin's response had nothing to do with her comment, _or_ with what the Wenn's were accusing his aunt of. "I have to remain impartial."

It was as if she hadn't mentioned Joan at all. "_Impartial_ is fine. Unemotional? Not so good." She stopped just short of rolling her eyes and was so caught up in her own thoughts, she nearly missed his next words.

"It seems," he was saying, jutting his chin out at her, "like you've got enough emotions buzzing around for the pair of us right now."

Clenching her jaw, Louisa inhaled deeply through her nose, actively tamping down desires unbecoming to a woman in late-stage pregnancy, not the least of which was spitting at him. With a mighty effort, she managed to squelch that particular urge, replacing it with a much more fiendish desire to force him to say out loud what he was _really_ getting at, deciding that would be entirely more satisfying than anything else she could've come up with. "So you're saying I'm…_what_, then?"

Martin, in purely clinical mode, remained clueless as to her desire, fiendish or otherwise. "Well, emotional, obviously. It's a product of hormonal imbalance."

Into her head came roaring the image of a tight-lipped, ginger-haired doctor, who was about as soft as a concrete block, and it was all Louisa could do not to curl her lip in feral distaste. "Of course. Much better to spend your time with people who don't show any feelings at all."

"What do you mean?"

It was painfully obvious he had no idea what she meant. She heard the words _you're being unfair, apologize_ whisper through her brain, but they were quickly replaced by words that contained far too much _hormonal_ _imbalance_ and not nearly enough common sense. "Why don't you complain about it to your friend, Edith, then? I'm sure she's the type who wouldn't let annoying things like _emotions_ get in the way." The instant it was out of her mouth, Louisa knew she'd gone too far, voicing a jealousy she'd never meant for Martin to hear. But it was too late now to take it back, so she stood there, waiting for Martin to put it together.

Which he did not. Instead, he simply voiced further confusion, scrunching his face in perplexity. "What's Edith got to do with it?" If his expression had become any tighter, he would've been nothing but ears.

This look and his question, both so unarguably genuine, stabbed at Louisa's heart, and reminded her that she was not dealing with a regular man. A regular man would've zeroed in on the jealousy, called her on it. But not Martin. It would never occur to Martin that Louisa would be jealous of Edith, and this, conversely, increased her level of frustration with him, bringing more hateful words to her lips. "I'm just saying that I'm glad that I'm hormonal, because it's better than being cold and prickly and intimidating. But if that's what makes you happy, then that's fine, then. Great. Good for you."

"You're wearing odd shoes," he said, pointing at her footwear.

Until this moment, she felt victorious, certain she had finally managed to stir _some_ kind of emotional response in him. His non-sequitur, therefore, threw her. Looking over her belly to her feet (which was getting increasingly harder to do), she could only summon a questioning "Mmm?" before realizing that she was, indeed, wearing shoes that didn't match. "Oh."

Martin began mumbling something intelligible, no doubt an attempt to inform her of just how her shoes differed, but by then she was _done_, her dangerously tender feelings for him evaporating in the face of what appeared to be his complete insensitivity to her, the baby, his aunt Joan, and even the spoiled rotten Theo Wenn. "Shut up, Martin!" She turned, and with as much dignity as her stomach would allow, stomped away from him.

End Chapter 1


	2. Reflection

Title: Mismatched Shoes, Chapter 2 (Reflection)  
Author: DianeB  
Rating: PG-13 (K+)  
Pairing: Martin/Louisa

Chapter 2 Summary: This chapter fits between the two significant conversations Louisa had with Martin during the S4 episode "The Departed." That is, it fills in a small blank between the "odd shoes" conversation and the one when the pair bump into each other outside the Wenn's as Louisa's delivering Theo's homework. This chapter emerged entirely from my marginally-fertile imagination.

A/N: Please see Chapter 1 for original Author's Notes and Disclaimer.

* * *

When she was certain she was out of sight of Martin, Louisa stopped and leaned on the low stone fence, peering over her rounded stomach to see the shoes she had hurriedly slipped on that morning. As she found herself doing more and more in the past month, she spent a moment (this time leaning there in front of God and everybody) rubbing her belly and thinking back over the conversation she'd just had with Martin, trying to determine if there had been a deeper, more personal, meaning behind his curt remarks and gruff manner.

She sighed and looked toward the water and the distant boats, deciding no, there really hadn't been. Same as every other time. Okay, he hadn't caught her jealousy of Edith, which was a _good_ thing, but it was obvious he _had_ caught the fact that her hormones were wildly out of balance, the damn _shoes_ being a very visible example.

Sighing again, and realizing with some dismay that she'd been sighing an awful lot lately, she dusted herself off and continued on.

**oOo oOo oOo**

Once back in the village proper, Louisa couldn't bring herself to return to Mr. Routledge's cottage, which she had yet to think of as _her_ cottage. It was just too soon, and no amount of scrubbing would change that. So she went to one of the few other places in Portwenn that gave her comfort.

**oOo oOo oOo**

An hour later, sitting in front of a pile of colorful children's artwork at her desk in the empty school, with only the sound of the fish tank's bubbler for background noise, Louisa leaned back in the chair and rubbed her eyes, trying to imagine how it was that she'd come to be in this state.

"Oh, well, love," she said aloud, sitting up and addressing her belly, "I guess you know how you came to be in this _state_, now don't you?" Snickering at herself, she stood, yawned and stretched, and decided that no matter how unfamiliar it felt, she'd probably be better off going back to Mr. Routledge's for a snack and a nap than staying here, staring at pink dinosaurs and stewing over the abrupt turn her life had taken.

Glancing around the room, she took in all the aspects that made it so wonderful: The books, the child-sized desks and chairs, the chalkboard, the very smell of the chalk dust itself, the fish, the plants, and even the big wall clock that ticked unevenly but still managed to keep excellent time. Soon enough, she'd have a child of her own attending this very school.

Cradling her belly by instinct and also to relieve some of the stress on her back, she sighed (again) and walked toward the deserted cloakroom, intent on getting a storybook from the shelf beside it. Nearing the pegs, she passed the full-length mirror on the wall and her reflection revealed what she'd forgotten: the mismatched shoes.

Sighing (again!), she dropped her arms and shook her head. The shoes really weren't _that_ far off one another, and she had, in fact, spent the better part of the day traipsing around in them without anyone else noticing…

In an instant of perfect awareness, she froze and looked hard at the face reflected back at her. It was probably not true that others hadn't noticed her shoes. Of course others had _noticed_, but only _Martin_ had said anything. Turning from the mirror toward her original goal of a storybook, she couldn't quite figure whether that was a good thing or a bad one.

As her hand drew a book from the shelf, the phone rang shrilly in the office down the hall, piercing the silence and causing Louisa to nearly drop the book. _Who on earth would be calling at this time of day, knowing there'd be no one here to answer?_ Even as she asked herself the question, she pushed the book back into its place and began lumbering to the office. She didn't reach the phone until it was on its eighth ring. "Portwenn Sch—"

She was rudely cut off by a sharp female voice. "Well, yes, _finally_. Miss Glasson? This is Juliet Wenn."

Louisa held the phone out, looking incredulously at it. How did Juliet Wenn know she was here? Bringing the phone back to her ear, Louisa realized that of course Juliet couldn't have known she was here; Juliet had simply been lucky _anyone_ was here. "Hello, Mrs. Wenn."

"You must bring Theo's homework. I know he's missed quite a lot of it already, and I don't want him getting any further behind."

Louisa huffed to herself. As if Theo Wenn ever cared about homework or where he stood in the school's pecking order. Still, the woman was right. Theo had already missed quite a bit of work, and whether or not he would actually _do_ the homework, it couldn't hurt for him to have it. "Um, yes, Mrs. Wenn, I can deliver it to you."

"Today, please."

This was clearly _not_ a polite request, and gave no consideration for the fact that Louisa had already been out to the Wenn's that day on another delivery mission for Theo. For a moment, Louisa felt just exactly as if she were talking to Martin. Swallowing hard against a reflexive desire to snap at her, Louisa simply told Mrs. Wenn she'd be there as soon as she could and hung up before she could be further demeaned by the woman.

Waddling back to her room and glancing again at her reflection, she recalled the shoe task still at hand and wondered for a moment if she should bother. Yes, she decided, she _should_ bother, if for no other reason than to reassure the rest of the village that her pregnancy had not rendered her incapable of properly dressing herself. Gathering the requisite homework for Theo, she made her way slowly out of the schoolhouse.

She knew, of course, there was another, much more compelling, reason for changing her shoes.

End Chapter 2


	3. Disconnect

Title: Mismatched Shoes, Chapter 3 (Disconnect)  
Author: DianeB  
Rating: PG-13 (K+)  
Pairing: Martin/Louisa

Chapter 3 Summary: Once more, I'm filling in the narrative from the second conversation between Louisa and Martin outside the Wenn's house. This is a short one, because that conversation was short.

A/N: Please see Chapter 1 for original Author's Notes and Disclaimer.

* * *

Martin was the last person Louisa wanted to see, but it seemed the Fates were constantly conspiring to bring them together. This time it was outside the Wenn's house for the second time that day. As she was starting up the steps to the house, she looked up and there he was, just exiting. In a feeble attempt to explain her reason for being there, she lifted the bag she carried. "They've got me bringing homework over."

"Oh, right," he said, passing by her on the steps and then turning to look up at her. "At least they care enough about that."

Interesting, his response, yet she answered in what she thought might remotely amuse him. "No, I think they just like ordering people around."

"Be nice if they applied that discipline…"

They finished in unison, "…to their own boy." Louisa met Martin's eyes, and for once they were in complete agreement.

"Exactly," he said. "Well, sooner or later they'll have to own up. Have to take responsibility for their own child."

So much for complete agreement. She blinked in amazement and wondered if he ever, _ever_ thought about the words before they left his mouth. It was inconceivable to her that he didn't get the double-entendre of his own statement! As it was, she couldn't stop her eyes from dropping to her swollen belly. "Yes," was all she could get out, afraid to look at him, hoping against hope that maybe this time, this _one_ time, he'd make the connection.

To his credit, he seemed unsure what to say next and fell back on a surprising display of manners. "Uh, would you like me to take the homework in?"

"No, I can manage." She stuck out a foot, partly for spite and partly to show him that she'd fixed her shoes, since he hadn't made a connection about _that_, either. "Got the right shoes on."

"Yes," he said dully.

She waited for a second to see if he would say anything else, but when it became obvious he was finished, she turned and went up the steps to the Wenn's front door, purposely not saying another word to him, nor looking back at him.

**oOo oOo oOo**

And so it was that Louisa Glasson did not see that Martin Ellingham - standing there silently watching Louisa for many minutes after she'd gone inside - had for what could possibly have been the first time in his life made _many_ connections. Anyone looking at Martin could have easily recognized his tortured expression for what it so plainly was: deep emotional conflict and the certain knowledge that he'd screwed up brilliantly – without the least idea how to put things right.

The Very End.


End file.
